


First Noel

by mountain_born



Series: The Marvelous Tale of an Agent, an Archer, and an Assassin [13]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Crossover, Doctor Who/Avengers Crossover Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_born/pseuds/mountain_born
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The Christmas Special:</i>  The SHIELD Christmas party is a grand, long-held tradition.  Coulson, Clint, and River have very different first experiences with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Noel

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: Just a fun piece of seasonal/character fluff to entertain people while I write (and write and write and write) Phase II of _The Marvelous Tale of an Agent an Archer and an Assassin._ It’s coming along quite well. There’s just a ton of it.
> 
> In the meantime, I am very much enjoying _Agents of SHIELD._ While most of it won’t be canon for this AU ‘verse, I’m always keeping an eye out for fun tidbits to twist to my nefarious purposes and work into the _Marvelous Tale_. Just for fun, I gave a couple of characters walk-ons.
> 
> Happy Holidays!

_December 1991_

In the six months since his recruitment, Phil Coulson had learned a lot about SHIELD.

It was a big organization, bigger than he’d had any concept of when he’d been approached about joining. It had bases all over the world and technology that was ten years ahead of anything Coulson had seen in the military or as a private citizen. It had incredible resources and seemingly limitless influence. Hell, SHIELD had plucked him out of the Army without so much as a snag of red tape. 

It also threw one hell of a Christmas party.

The main mess hall in the Administration Center had been completely converted over to party space. From what Coulson had been told, the festivities were set to go on for hours so that all personnel could drop in regardless of their work schedules. Director Downing would be there for its entirety, her usual grey suit exchanged for a red one with a sprig of holly pinned to the lapel. 

Coulson was starting to suspect that the head of SHIELD was some sort of superhuman; Downing was seventy-three years old, had been at this for four hours, and wasn’t showing the slightest sign of fatigue. Coulson had been watching her work her way repeatedly around the room, making a point to speak briefly to each attendee. 

Her right-hand man, Deputy Director Fury, came and went. Coulson assumed that Fury was minding the store while the party was going on. He’d swing through every so often, confer briefly with Downing, load up another small plate with cookies from the buffet table, and be off again.

Coulson didn’t think he’d ever seen Fury smile so much. It was creepy. Incongruous, like this whole party.

“Phillip, you are thinking entirely too hard about a simple display of holiday revelry.”

Coulson was a little proud of himself for not jumping. He had neither heard nor seen Downing approaching him. She had just appeared at his elbow carrying a cup of punch (heavily spiked—Coulson had nearly choked on his first drink) and wearing an amused smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said automatically. “I mean, no, ma’am. I’m fine. It’s a great party.”

“Yes.” Downing sipped her punch. “I’ve always enjoyed the Christmas party, even if it’s not technically my holiday.” At Coulson’s questioning look, she just raised an eyebrow. “I’m Jewish.”

“Ah.” He hadn’t known that. There was no reason why he should, of course. Downing was a good dozen rungs above him on the leadership ladder. Though she had been present at his initial interview with SHIELD, Coulson had rarely seen the Director since his arrival in New York. 

Coulson cleared his throat, grasping about for a topic. “So, ma’am, if you don’t mind my asking, why the. . .”

Coulson gestured to the mess hall.

“Why the big party?” Downing asked.

“Yes.”

It wasn’t that government institutions, even top secret ones like SHIELD, had to be completely serious killjoys at all times, but this went beyond anything Coulson expected. 

“It’s tradition,” Downing said. “We threw the first one of these back in 1949 when SHIELD was still just getting off the ground. It was _Hope’s_ idea. She always used to say that given the work that we were setting out to do, the things we were preparing to fight, we had to make time for simple fun on occasion. That would be one of the things that would keep us all human. She was right, I think.” Downing smiled. “And she still loves Christmas.”

Coulson listened with interest. He had seen the Founders Wall in the foyer of the Administration Center, of course. He had read the plaques of the five individuals who had established SHIELD: Meg Downing, Howard Stark, Julien Vasseur, _Hope_ and _Aegis_. Spinning theories about the two still-classified founders was a form of recreation among SHIELD personnel. 

Now, without even trying, Coulson had learned that _Hope_ was a woman and apparently still alive. And from Downing, of all people.

“You have a few days leave coming up around the holidays,” Downing said. “Will you be going home to Pittsburgh?”

“Yes, ma’am. My aunt pretty much made me swear I’d come down.”

“Ah, yes. Your Aunt Alice, your mother’s sister. Well, I’m sure she’s anxious to have you home.”

Jesus, was there anything Downing didn’t know? Common sense said that Coulson’s family would be part of his official file, especially Aunt Alice, who was at the top of his _In Case Of Death Or Dismemberment, Please Call_ list. He was taken aback, though, not only that Downing had read it, but that she bothered to remember it.

He confined his response to, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you looking forward to it?”

“Of course,” he replied. Downing gave him a knowing look. Coulson didn’t know why he kept talking. It was inappropriate and bordering on unprofessional to drop a tale of woe, however brief, on his boss’s boss’s boss’s boss, but he found himself going on. “It’s just. . .ever since my mom died the whole family holiday thing really isn’t the same. It’s been almost six years. You’d think I’d be used to it.”

Maybe Downing _was_ a superhuman of some kind, with the ability to nudge the truth out of people whether they wanted to tell it or not.

Downing just listened and nodded, seeming to ignore Coulson’s shift of embarrassment. 

“The past is a tricky beast,” she said. “You’ll definitely feel it when you get to be my age. It doesn’t do to live in it, but you don’t want to forget it either.” Downing smiled around at the holiday lights and decorations. “Remember the best things and carry them forward. I’ve found that works well.” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good man.” Downing nodded in approval. “And now I think some of your friends are waiting for your attention.”

She nodded over to where Agents May, Ross, Jacobs, and Dix were standing in a clump watching Coulson and Downing curiously.

“Go on and enjoy the party, Phillip. And have a good trip home.”

Downing disappeared off into the crowd, moving on to talk to someone else. Coulson watched the Director go, shaking his head.

Then he went to join in the party.

*****

_December 1999_

Christmas party. Well, okay then.

Clint had actually attended a lot of Christmas parties in his nineteen years. He had vague memories of Christmases before his parents had died. Those memories were warm and safe and happy and Clint avoided thinking about them as much as possible. There had been parties at an ever-changing series of schools, all with a faint sticky backdrop of construction-paper crafts. They all kind of ran together in Clint’s memory, neither good nor bad. There had been big chaotic parties put on by social services and various foster care agencies, trying to make the poor kids no one wanted feel special. Clint had always hated them.

Christmases with Carson’s Carnival had usually been good even if they could be pretty lean and haphazard. They were always somewhere down South, camped out for the winter. People tended to clump up according to families and friendships. Old Mr. Moskowitz, the elderly props master who had taken a shine to the Barton boys, always managed to turn out a huge batch of _pierogi_. Clint used to stuff himself and sneak leftovers to the elephants.

SHIELD went all out for the holiday by the look of it. There was music, space cleared in the mess hall for people to dance, a ton of food, and an open bar. No one had even given him any shit about being under age. 

Clint could deal with that. If his life had taught him anything, it could probably be summed up as _live in the present_.

Someone took a seat at the corner table where he’d parked himself. “Having a good time?” Agent Coulson asked.

Clint’s hand fluttered next to his beer bottle for a moment, wondering if he should swipe it out of sight. But fuck, Coulson had already seen it. Clint left it where it was.

“Food’s good,” he said.

“Yep.” Coulson nodded in agreement. “It’s considered a key to morale.”

“No shit,” Clint said.

Like good food being important to high morale was a big secret. Let some of these high-achievement trainees try spending a few weeks living on nothing but a peanut butter sandwich a day. Clint could tell them from experience that morale would plummet. 

“I saw on the rotation that you signed up to work on Christmas Day,” Coulson said. “You don’t want to take your leave?”

Clint shrugged. “I can take it some other time.” Besides, for Clint _work_ mostly consisted of training right now. That wasn’t exactly a hardship. “I didn’t have any plans, so it’s no big deal. Might as well free up the day for someone else.”

Coulson had read his file. He knew damn well that Clint didn’t have anyone to get together with over the holidays. He and Barney weren’t on what you’d call speaking terms, old Mr. Moskowitz had died last year, and Clint didn’t really think he’d be welcomed back to Carson’s with open arms anyway. 

A couple of months ago, Clint would have asked why the hell Coulson cared if he worked Christmas. He’d kind of given up on figuring things like that out, though. Coulson cared, for whatever reason. Clint left it at that.

“Well, I’m sure whoever gets the day will appreciate it,” Coulson said.

“It’s no big deal.” Clint didn’t want people to think he was working Christmas in order to be some do-gooder martyr asshole type. “How about you? You probably have some big family thing you have to go to, right?”

“I’ll be around. I don’t have leave this year.”

“Oh.” Clint frowned. “Well, why can’t you take mine? Since I’m not using it.”

Coulson looked over at him with a half smile. “That’s generous, but I can’t. You’d have to have the same or higher security clearance to provide coverage.”

“Right.” That made sense. Clint was still just a trainee.

Coulson raised an eyebrow. “But give it a few years. You’ll probably be there before you know it.”

Clint just nodded and took a long pull on his beer bottle. He wasn’t sure if he could--or wanted to--think quite that far ahead. In Clint’s experience, most of the things life handed to you were temporary. Usually _very_ temporary. That’s why you had to live in the moment. It reminded you that the things that sucked would pass, and let you enjoy a good time while it lasted.

“Unless a crisis hits, it’ll be pretty quiet,” Coulson went on. “I’ll tell you what. That pizza place out by the mall delivers on Christmas Day. After training, we’ll order in and find something mindless on television. Sound good?”

If Coulson had sounded the slightest bit like he was offering charity, like he felt sorry for Clint for not having anywhere to go on Christmas, Clint would have blown off the offer. And hell, maybe Coulson _did_ feel sorry for him, but he didn’t sound it, so Clint just shrugged and said, “Yeah, that would be okay, I guess.”

“Good.” Coulson got up from the table. “I have to make the rounds. Have a good time.”

Clint gave Coulson his well-practiced cocky grin. “Always do.”

Coulson just shook his head before he walked off. Clint propped his feet up on the chair the senior agent had vacated and took another drink of his beer. In a minute he’d wander back by the buffet and see if there were any of those cheese things left.

This was definitely one of those moments to appreciate.

*****

_December 2005_

River didn’t have any earthly clue what she was doing here.

The SHIELD Christmas party was a long-standing tradition according to Agent Barton. Lots of good food, music, booze, and general merriment. River personally had had only one question: “Is attendance mandatory?”

Barton had just frowned at her. “No, attendance isn’t mandatory, but you’re going. You’re part of SHIELD. You have every right to be there.”

River had just shrugged and let it slide. It wasn’t like Barton was going to physically force her to go to a party, and he hadn’t, of course. Yet here she was. She was even wearing a dress and makeup for God’s sake. Behold Barton’s powers of persistence.

A long time ago, back when she’d been a kid, back before SHIELD had even been formed or thought of, River (or Melody as she’d been then) had been best friends with a girl named Kathy Shaw. The Shaws, in addition to having seven children, had had a senile old sheepdog named Laddie. Lacking any actual sheep to look out for, Laddie had adopted the Shaw children and their friends as his flock, herding and worrying and occasionally even nipping at their heels to try to steer them where he wanted them to go.

Half the time, when River dealt with Barton, she wound up thinking about Laddie. 

At any rate, here she was. Trainee Agent River Song, officially in attendance. She’d told Barton that she’d come for an hour just to get him off of her back. She’d keep to the fringes for the allotted time, then she’d leave.

“Hey. What are you doing hiding back here?”

Or she could have her heels nipped at a bit more.

“I’m not hiding.”

Barton leaned back against the wall beside her. “You’re hanging out all by yourself in the darkest part of the room.”

“I told you I’m not much of a one for parties. Or Christmas. And I’m standing in the place where I’m the least likely to make everyone else uncomfortable.”

The sight of the Reaper was not exactly one that was likely to fill people with tidings of comfort and joy.

Barton frowned. “You know, you can’t do this whole social detachment thing for the rest of your life,” he said. “And you shouldn’t. You got a second shot. Do you really want to spend it on the sidelines? Because that could potentially be a very long time to keep people shut out.”

“Is this the part where you show me my deathbed and a flash of my gravestone? I have an assigned psychologist, Barton. One is enough, trust me.”

Barton looked unconvinced and River wondered if he was contemplating having her shrink reassigned with someone more effective.

“Okay. We’re going to play a party game,” he said. 

River felt her eyebrows climb up to her hairline. “Oh, we are, are we?”

“Yeah. You been an operative since. . .what? Since you were in diapers? So, pretend you’re someone who might, God forbid, have a little fun at one of these things. See where it takes you. Fake it ‘til you make it, Song. You might surprise yourself.”

“I’m curious, does it hurt being that earnest?” Barton looked unruffled. River shook her head. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Think of it as infiltration practice if it makes you feel better.”

He expected her to refuse. She could see it in his eyes. He was waiting for anything from a silent blow-off to an inventive suggestion regarding a bodily orifice and a Christmas ornament.

Someone really should have warned Barton about contrary Scots. River smiled serenely. “All right. If you insist.”

She turned and walked away without waiting to see his reaction.

River knew how to work a room. It was an art she’d learned decades ago. She had always been talented at becoming invisible, blending into a crowd. She also knew how to carry herself like a force of nature when facing an opponent. This was yet another distinct set of skills: a bearing that was confident but not intimidating, steady eyes, warmth and humor in the smile. Sometimes being in the spotlight was a tactical advantage, and River knew how to go from _shadow on the wall_ to _belle of the ball._

It was a little trickier here at SHIELD. Here she was a known quantity and one that people had good reason to dislike and fear. But River wasn’t out to fool anyone here and, given her usual taciturn behavior, suddenly turning on the charm seemed to shock people into responding in kind. 

River figuratively danced her way through the room, stopping here and there to chat. She actually wound up speaking at some length with a few of the other young women from the trainee class. She wished Dr. Levine a Happy Hanukkah. The look on Fury’s face when she offered him a bright smile and a fresh cup of punch was one of the funniest things she’d seen in some time. She flirted shamelessly with the funny little trainee from Glasgow, the one everyone said was some kind of engineering prodigy. He smiled nervously the whole time, all but holding a sign that said _I fear for my life, but am oddly turned on right now_.

The bar wasn’t fussed with official legal ages, so River seized the opportunity to get a good, stiff drink before circling back around to the table from which Barton and Coulson had been watching the show. She joined them, sinking gracefully down into a chair.

“There you are. I participated,” she said. “I have to say, it _was_ rather fun.”

There was a lot of entertainment value in thoroughly perplexing people.

Coulson was looking at her like he couldn’t quite decide whether to applaud her performance or assign a security detail to her. Barton was chortling.

“That Fitz kid looked like he thought you were going to eat him alive,” he said. “I’ve never seen a guy look so terrified at the possibility of getting lucky.”

River shrugged and sipped her drink. “Might be more than a possibility,” she said. She hid a smile at Barton’s choked sound of surprise.

Well, why not? She was human, he was likeable enough, and it would certainly break the monotony a bit. If Barton and Coulson insisted that she socialize, might as well do it properly.

“I have to say,” Coulson said, “if you can do that half as well in the field, you’re going to have one hell of a future with SHIELD.”

It was the first straightforward compliment Coulson had ever paid her.

“Well, Agent Coulson, I can’t tell you how much that means to me.” Enough of her party persona was still in place that it was hard, even for River, to say what percentage of the remark was sarcasm. 

“So, the party? Not such a bad idea?” Barton asked.

“I’ve spent worse evenings.” River finished her drink and got up from the table. “But I’m going to bow out now.”

The hour that she’d agreed to was up and Trainee Fitz kept sneaking looks at her from across the room. _Well, why not, indeed?_ she thought. It _was_ Christmas after all. 

“Merry Christmas, boys. Don’t wait up.”


End file.
